People Are Strange
by Sodapop Allerdyce
Summary: People Are Strange' is a journal written from Michael Duff McKagan's point of view of his life in Tulsa durin the late 1960's. [Outsiders Meet GNR] [AUNOT A TRUE STORY]


**Typed: **September 23, 2005/Friday

**Uploaded:** September 24, 2005/Saturday

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**Author's Note:**

Please read, review, and advertise my story if you like! I would love to hear from my readers to know what they thought about my unique story based on 'The Outsiders' and a few men of rock royalty. Feedback means so much to me! And, please, do not bash this story, me, nor any other stories I have on nor Xanga . **_Also, and more importantly, do not jock any of my material nor shall I catch any of my work on your site without my permission!_** _(More commentary for this chapter and story will be on the way! Plus, I still need to brainstorm chapter two. So, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me here by mentioning it in your review or notifying me at Xanga.)_

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**Title:** People Are Strange 

**Author:** Sodapop Allerdyce

**Rated:** PG-13 to R _(for Language and Smoking)_

**Category:** Books The Outsiders

**Genre:** Drama/General

**Spoiler:** Nearly a year after the book since November. **_(1967-1968)_**

**Synopsis:** _'People Are Strange'_ is a journal written from Michael "Duff" McKagan's point of view about his life in Tulsa during the late 1960's. You learn about his experiences with gangs, strict social classes, and trying to find a home in his 'home away from home'. Fit in and try to start a new life in Oklahoma. _(AU & NOT A TRUE STORY)_

**Completion:** One Journal Entry _(Chapter)_ – _So Far_

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the material nor characters created by S.E. Hinton from her short 1966 novella, 'The Outsiders'. Also, the famous rockstars that appear in the story aren't famous, are out of character, and do not reflect upon the real person. Just a fictional character to enjoy with the name attached. **_Another thing to remember, this comes as part of the warning label by the way for my story, that I don't promote drinking, taking drugs, joining gangs, starting fights with people, and so forth. Nothing negative like that. This story is not to be taken seriously in that fashion!_** _(So far, the only thing that I originally created in this story, were the names of the streets and high school. 'Hinton' for the author, S.E. Hinton, and 'Morrison' for Jim Morrison of The Doors. The band was big around the time period that the book takes place. Plus, I was looking at my Doors greatest hits album near by computer!)_

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**People Are Strange**

August 24, 1967

As the air whips through my long hair, I can feel the warmth of the South pass over me. Even though it's early in the morning, it's already getting warm. That's the south for you. The skies are clear and the city is just waking up. I'm riding my motorcycle to school today since I was advised not to take the buses and walk on foot for it wasn't safe around here. Since I was still new to the area, I made sure I was going slow enough to catch the names of the streets I passed and make sure that I didn't get into a straight head on collision with some of the trucks I've seen around here. So far, I didn't have to worry about any of those trucks yet for they didn't roll around until high noon based on what my cousin told me.

I approach an intersection with a red light on and come to a complete stop. The roar of the engine of my vehicle dies down to a whisper. I raise my eyes to the suspended signs hanging down from the nearby polls that directed the traffic. I'm only a few blocks away from the local high school that I'm starting at today. I tighten my grip upon the handle bars, feeling anxious and kicking myself for feeling that way. As if I didn't have enough to be nervous about, I could feel eyes boring into the back of my head. I turn around to see who it was to only find that there were quite a few pairs of eyes looking my way, most of the glares where from the people in the corvairs. I had no idea why they were staring at me like that. I sure as hell didn't forget to wear pants this morning nor have my hair dyed a weird color like I did a few months ago before I moved to here from L.A. Seemed like dying your hair to a bright, neon orange was a tad too extreme at my old school, so I reverted back to my natural platinum blonde locks. Suddenly, a sharp, harsh noise blared behind me, telling me to get a move on. I narrowed my eyes behind dark shades at the driver before turning back around and revving up the engine. I mentally rolled my eyes. _'People can be so rude!'_

I roll into the parking lot in front of the school without a hitch. I train my eyes for a good parking space with a poll or bike rake nearby to attach my motorcycle. Even though I was on the early side, the lot was almost packed with corvairs. I continued driving on down the line to the end where I saw long rows of metallic bike rakes surrounded by a chain linked fence. And, just beyond that, the remainder of the left side lot was packed with old, grungy looking pick up trucks and cheap versions of what I think were Beatles and BMW's. But, I couldn't be sure since I'm no car expert here. I go up to the cage, put my feet out on either side, and killed the engine by pressing the right peddle and twisting the left handle bar. The exhaust pipe coughed up some black smoke like it always does before I turn it off. Then, I swung my leg over and walked my motorcycle in there and found a good space near a tree. I quickly inspected the compartments near the back end to make sure that I didn't leave behind anything worth stealing.

I reach deep down in there, felt something cold and smooth beneath my fingertips, and took it out to see what it was. It was a switchblade; a small portable weapon with a black handle and a 4-inch blade that came out when I folded the handle the right way with a forceful flick of the wrist. This contraption wasn't mine. It was given to me by my cousin, William whom everyone calls 'Axl'. I didn't even want to bring this damn thing in the first place, but Axl kept nagging me to. He gave it to me last night before I went to bed while we were brushing our teeth. But, later that evening, when everyone was supposed to be sleeping, I slipped out of bed and stuffed it back in a drawer of clothes in his room. But, I guess, that sneaky son of a bitch smuggled it back and put it in with my stuff on my motorcycle while he had excused himself to the bathroom before finishing breakfast this morning.

I held the switchblade out in the palm of my hand and just stared numbly at it. Then, remembered that I was in public and looked frantically around to make sure no one had caught me with it. The people around me, piling out of their cars and locking up their bikes, appeared like they could care less for they were all still too groggy to be competent enough of what was going on around them, much less a guy with an unconcealed weapon on school property no less! Shrugging that moment of fear off, I decided to pocket the switchblade anyways. Even though I didn't want to carry it around in my back pocket, I thought it would be better to be safe and alive than sorry and lying on the ground bleeding to death. My cousin knew more about this town than I did, so I have to be prepared for anything.

I sighed heavily to compose myself, adjusted the shoulder straps of my backpack, and began to make my way around the bend and to the front of the school. All the while, keeping in mind what Axl told me about the social classes and gangs were like around here. They had very different standards than what I was used to in southern California. Also, at all costs, it was best to avoid the Socials…excuse me…_'Socs'_… It was very dangerous for a lone _'greaser'_ to get in their way if they were in a pack. I just laughed in his face and called him paranoid for the _'Socs'_ around home, were no threat at all. Of course, I got a heated glare in return. Axl looked like he wanted to punch me silly to get it through my head. But, I didn't care since I was laughing so hard. I almost felt like laughing right now, but ended up just grinning to myself; remembering the fact that while I was carrying around a 4-inch blade, his was a sixer just asking for a fight or get arrested. _'Talk about paranoid!'_

As I was making my way along the side walk near the carpool lanes in front of the main building, I noticed the divide in social classes that my cousin told me about. The people dressed in fine, expensive clothing avoided walking too close next to others who sported hand me downs and things they stole that hadn't been nailed down to the shelves. I could clearly tell where I stood in their society, a greaser. It was painfully obvious from the way I dressed, wear my hair, and came in on a motorcycle. Even though this wasn't entirely foreign to me, standing out as a greaser, but it was in the sense that I lived near the border between what was considered 'Soc' and 'Greaser' territory. My aunt and her husband lived dangerously close to Soc territory and yet owned a nice, big, decent house in Greaser territory. They were considered Socs, but were pretty lenient about how they raised two wild teenage boys under their roof. Axl and I were greasers at heart, and they were perfectly fine with that. As long as we were being ourselves and not breaking the law without telling them about it, we were good boys in their eyes.

Suddenly, I became very aware of the fact that people were staring at me again. It wasn't even just the Socs like at the intersection earlier; it was the greasers as well. Well, some. Now, having seen socs and greasers in the same vicinity, it dawned on me why I was attracting so much attention. It was not because of my fashion statement, but because of the fact that I wore my hair _way, way, way_ longer than any of the greasers around here. Mine was a long as, if not longer than, the girls with their perfectly styled silky hair that curved out at odd angles, mall hair. Not saying that I had mall hair. Mine was long, kind of wavy, and most of all, messy with way less hair spray than the girls. I don't use grease, yet I'm a greaser. My hairstyle is natural for southern California greasers, but obviously was going to make me an alien at this rate.

I felt tempted to flip up the collar of my leather jacket and tuck my hair underneath, but decided against it for I had no real reason to hide and was taught to never be ashamed of whom I was. Also, I had a sinking feeling that I would be getting this reaction all day, might as well get used to it. '_Let them stare'._ And, wouldn't you know it, I was damn right! Since the moment I stepped into the main hall, got my locker, and went from class to class; I was watched by curious hawks. Even the teachers gave me strange looks, but made it less obvious. Being under constant scrutiny by nearly everyone I passed; made me clam up and not feel like talking to anyone in my classes. What made it worse was that way over half of the population in each class was infested with Socs; who had no problem making me feel _'welcomed'_ and know what was their property.

By the time I lazily strolled into my second to last class of the day, before lunch, I was looking forward to when the bell rang so that I could go out back by the bleachers and have a few smokes to calm my nerves. I have at least one pack of Camels on me somewhere in one of the pockets of my jacket. It was my second to last pack total that I packed with me from L.A. A few nights ago, my first day in Tulsa, my cousin and I sat out back on the porch and smoked the first one away as we stared up at the night sky. The stars had been out. Lovely night, but kind of annoyed me now that I had wasted that pack. Axl told me that the most popular brand of cancer sticks around here were _'Kools'_ and you would have to go out of your way to find a store with a cheap pack of Camels. I don't particularly like Kools' brand for they are incredibly cheap and don't last long enough to my liking. I can tolerate smoking one, but I won't like it though. Sometimes I switch over to a bottle of beer or soda to get rid of the unpleasant after taste. Well, that's one thing I didn't like about Tulsa so far.

My second to last class of the day was British Literature with Mr. Syme. Surprisingly enough, the social population was about even this time. Almost half were greasers filling up the back rows of the room, except one. There was a boy sitting close to the front and he didn't look old enough to be a junior, but he did have the height for it. I could tell he was tall by his long legs. As I was cruising past Mr. Syme's desk, he cleared his throat audibly and said to me, "Mr. McKagan, will you please kindly remove your sunglasses? You're in a classroom now and rules need to be respected." I stopped dead to look at him with an eyebrow raised. "How did you know who I was?" I asked, bewildered. The old English teacher just smiled at me kindly and put it simply, "Let's just say…You have become quite the _'celebrity'_." Mr. Syme leaned forward at his desk and pointed to his glasses. I didn't get the signal at first, but then I remembered what he told me earlier. I reached up and pushed my shades over my head until it was acting like a hair band to hold back my big hair. The bright light above hurts my eyes for a few seconds.

I could hear Mr. Syme telling me something, "Michael, why don't you have a seat right next to Ponyboy Curtis over there?" I opened my eyes just as he was pointing over to the empty seat to the left of the lone greaser I noticed earlier when I first came in. I just nodded in reply and quietly sat down next to the blonde kid. Mr. Syme then turned his attention to the young grease and said, "Ponyboy?" The kid looks up. "If you don't mind, I would like you to act as a guide for our new student here. Just show him around campus during lunch and then you're free to go. Alright?" Ponyboy just nods, looking bored as hell and then makes eye contact with me. I smile, trying to appear friendly. Mr. Syme's kind voice cuts in: "Michael, why don't you introduce yourself to the class before we get started here?"

My attention snaps over to him and I get nervous all over again. I can feel my pulse racing and I take a deep breath before I say anything. _'Gosh, I **hate** introducing myself to new people!'_ I raise my left hand and run it through my hair before saying: "I'm Michael McKagan. But, you guys can call me _Duff_…if you want." I pause for a brief moment, knowing that I wasn't the only one in this class with a weird name. "I'm a junior, seventeen, and just moved to Tulsa from Los Angeles, California. I live with my aunt, her husband, and my cousin, Axl Rose." At the mention of that name, I could hear people behind me whispering and gasping in shock that I lived with _'those people'_ and _'that guy'_. _'My cousin is famous, too. Oh joy…'_ I thought, faking laughter in my head. "**Alright, quiet down class!**" said Mr. Syme. "Let's not make Mr. McKagan feel any _more _uncomfortable than he already is." _'**Thank you!**'_ I silently interject. "I would like you all to be nice to him and make him feel welcomed!" I fold my arms over my chest and groan mentally, feeling embarrassed from the way he just **_'babied'_** me there. In response, the class mumbles a _'hello'_ to me and applause with not much gusto, which I was okay with. Mr. Syme stood up from his desk, clapped his hands together, and said: "**Now**, let's begin your first _exciting_ year of British Literature and Writing!"

When the English teacher began to write the guidelines of the curricular for the year, the young greaser next to me leaned over and whispered if I had a spare pencil as I was getting my supplies out from my pack on the floor. "Sure", I said and handed him one with my right hand as I began to jot things down with my left. As the minutes to the full hour of the class ticked slowly away, I had written about two pages worth of notes which the teacher could've put on his own paper and used the copier machine to do so. But, then again, Xeroxing things was awfully expensive and it wasn't often included in the school's budget to purchase the damn things. By the time everyone put their pencils down and rubbed their hands from writing for so long, the sound of sweet freedom came over the P.A. system, the bell rang. '_About time, too!_' I thought and began to pack up, eager to leave.

After a brief talk with Mr. Syme's about how my day was, I joined my tour guide for the day, Ponyboy, outside. I filled my lungs with fresh air and revel in the feeling of being outdoors again. Feeling bouncy and cheerful, I said to him, "Sorry, I took so long in there_! Like a woman_, Mr. Syme's **_had_** to ask how my day was…!" I cross my eyes and grin like an idiot, which makes the other boy smile in return. The young blonde hooks his thumbs into his jean's pockets and begins to walk in the direction which I later learned lead to the cafeteria. Also, I learned that the young grease wasn't much of a talker based on how he was describing things and not cracking jokes about certain dark hallways or bad food in the cafeteria. He seemed to keep to himself ahead of me, not stopping along the tour nor making much small talk with me. I can understand that much. Being around someone you don't know is hard until you can figure out how to clique with them. I guess it didn't make it any easier, either, when some cute girls, greaser and soc alike, began to check me out and yell to me; "_Hey sexy_! How's it hanging?" They would continue to say lines like that and then giggle like maniacs. I laughed too, waved and smiled at them. I didn't go over to personally say hi to any of them, because I knew I would have time later in the school year and plus I didn't want to waste any more of my lunch with this tour.

As Ponyboy and I were approaching the cafeteria, I noticed two greasers hanging out front looking in our direction. The one on the left with golden blonde hair and wearing a Mickey Mouse shirt, whom looked to be about my cousin's age, was grinning from ear to ear and slapping his knee from trying to contain himself. While his companion, taller, broader, and sporting a jean jacket with the sleeves torn off; had his arms crossed over his chest and looked to have it under control. Once Ponyboy and I got to be about a yard away from them, the Mickey Mouse shirt guy looked over and then just lost it. His laughter filled the air with high pitched erratic shrikes like he was having a sugar rush. The young greaser next to me looked over to the one in the vest and asked with a hint of laughter in his voice, "Is he drunk?" Ponyboy's friend shook his head and chuckled, "Nah! That's all Two-Bit with a side of chocolate cake!" The blonde, whom they were calling Two-Bit, was bent over from laughing so hard, soon slide to the ground with a loud thump, and yelled: "**_Weee!_**" This only elicited more laughter from everyone, including me. I was totally lost. I didn't know who these guys were, but they must be Ponyboy's friends. Even though I didn't join in their conversation, I was perfectly content just watching them trade lines and laughter. It was quite an amusing site.

"So, what's your malfunction of the day?" asked Ponyboy, holding a hand out for Two-Bit to grab. The older greaser tried a couple of times, but couldn't find enough strength in his body to grab his friend's hand hard enough to be lifted. Two-Bit waved a hand in front of him, telling them to wait a moment so that he could compose himself. He laughed some more and snorted before a brief pause as some drool flowed out the corner of his mouth; which only made this hilarious display even better. After a moment, Two-Bit got to his knees and sprang up to his feet with a slight bounce to his step. "Ta-Da!" he cheered, holding his hands up like a cheerleader holding imaginary pom-poms. "Enough!" chimed in the brunette. He tapped his friend on the shoulder as he was still attempting to contain himself; "Tell them what were talking about earlier!"

Two-Bit's entire face lit up and his baby blue eyes began to dance. The blonde laughed again in a rapid, deeper tone; then said: "_Oh man…_!" and shook his hands in anticipation. "We…I thought you were….were a….from this distance…we could've sworn…" stuttered the poor greaser, looking at me. "We _thought_ you were a girl!" offered his companion. I arched my eyebrow and leaned away from them a little, perplexed: "**_What!_**" Two-Bit took a moment to copy my priceless expression before supplying, "We thought for a moment, you were a chick! Well, at least from far away. And…we kind of…we thought that Ponyboy got '_lucky'_ or something!" Now, it was the latter's turn to look horrified. It soon followed with a swift slap to the side of Two-Bit's head. "You **_sick_** fuck!" said Ponyboy, laughing all the way. I would've done the same, but didn't know this grease well enough and didn't want to get a negative rise out of them.

After a few more exchanges of calling each other perverts and talking smack, I didn't see a real need to hang around them anymore. It was a blast to watch, but I was getting hungry and wasn't really contributing anything worth while to their insanity. So, I got Ponyboy's attention and told him I was leaving. He quickly turned and waved. "Bye, Michael…_err_…Duff!" I smiled at that as I slide my shades back down over my eyes. "Just call me 'Duff'." I wasn't even a few steps away, when I heard Two-Bit yell after me: "Duff! I didn't mean it, baby! Come back!" He ended the statement with his signature hysterical, mad man laughter. I looked over my shoulder, simply shook my head at him, and continued on my way. I was about halfway back down the hall Ponyboy and I came from, when I realized that I didn't know my way back to the bicycle rakes! I swerved around on the heels of my black, leather cowboy boots and headed back over to the tiny pack of laughing hyenas.

"Do any of you clowns know the way to the bicycle rakes?" They all nodded and Ponyboy was about to say something, but Two-Bit beat him to the punch line; "_Aww_…Back so soon, honey?" Playing along, I retorted, "Face it, sugar! We're over. I dumped your _lazy_ ass months ago!" Then, placed my hands upon my hips and stuck my chin in the air like a girl who wasn't going to take anymore crap from her ex. I looked to Two-Bit and he was giving me the puppy dog look with his eyes. He began to whimper, and said, "But, I love _you!_" Ponyboy and his other friend, just looked at us blankly, not sure weather to laugh or freak out. Ponyboy was the first to speak after a pregnant pause, "**_Okay…_**this is just getting **too** weird!" He held both hands up in surrender. "Let's just _go_ show Duff where the bike rake is and hope that these two…_love birds…_can keep their hands to themselves!" I cracked up, sounding like I was hyperventilating, and clapped my hands to express my sheer amusement.

We arrived at the bike cage and Pony's brunette friend became deeply fascinated by my wheels. "**_Glory_**, you have a Harley-Davidson!" he exclaimed as he went up to it and examined the condition of the motorcycle. "What model is this…The new one?" I nodded as I began to undo the lock's combination and put it away into a side compartment. "**Oh, shit man!**" he exclaimed. "**_What, what, what!_**" I asked, becoming alarmed as well. We all gathered around the end of the bike from where he was standing and looked down. "Someone jacked your muffler and slashed both tires!" He squatted down and upon closer examination, "And it looks like they took a few of the screws attached to the hub caps." There were noticeable indentations in the dirt from where the screws had originally had been loosened and fall to the ground. "**Son of a bitch!**" I yell out in frustration and pounded the seat of my motorcycle. "**Shit…**This is going to _cost me_ **_so_** much! Look at all of these parts that I have to get replaced! Where the _hell _am I going to get this thing fixed! I don't even have a part time job yet! **Fuck**, I'm screwed!"

I run my fingers through my hair, going out of my mind, when I hear the guys begin to laugh at me. I looked over and glared at them. "**_What's so damn funny_**!" The auto fanatic just smirked and pointed to my bike, "I could have that fixed at the DX station for you." I raised an eyebrow, telling him to go on. "Soda and I work at the local gas station not far from here. Its a few blocks down that way…" He pointed towards the nearby street from which I had taken to get here. "…near the corner of Hinton Boulevard and Morrison Drive." I put a hand over my chest and breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Thank god you're a mechanic! Sorry I yelled at everyone here." He waved in the air, "Oh, it was nothing! ...How about, we push your motorcycle on over to the DX and keep it in the garage until I go on shift after school today…or sometime this week when I have time?" I gave him the thumbs up, "Sounds great…Uh…What was your name, man?" I pointed at him with both pointer fingers. "I'm Steve, and the other guy you're going to meet at the DX, is Sodapop Curtis. Pony here's, older brother."

As we pushed my motorcycle over to the gas station down the street, I had the front while Steve steered the back end. Meanwhile, Pony and Two-Bit acted like our body guards and made sure we crossed the busy street safely. We pulled into the DX Station and as we passed by the gas pumps, a young greaser about my age, with green eyes, dark brown well-greased hair, and wearing a forget me not blue DX uniform, came bounding up to us. "Hey Stevie! What you got there!" he said as he fell into step alongside his co-worker. "Slashed tires, missing muffler, and a few screws from the wheels," the latter replied. '_This must be Sodapop Curtis…,_' I thought. Soda patted Steve on the shoulder then bounded over to his little brother. "Kid brother!" He grabbed Pony by the neck and put him into a headlock. "Noogie!" and began rubbing his skull with his fist. Messing up his brother's hair and smearing some oil stains amongst the bleached locks. "Ah, Soda! Get off…My hair!" whined Pony as he struggled to break free. "Never!" was his answer. Feeling left out, Two-Bit came over and gave Soda a wet willy. The older Curtis cringed and freed his victim. Two-Bit grabbed him around the waist and swung him around in circles since he couldn't do a body slam on asphalt.

Since Steve and I were still holding onto my Harley and getting tired, we continued on our way and shoved it into a safe corner of the nearest garage and closed the huge metal door behind us. Meanwhile, we could hear Soda in the background begging to be let down or else he would lose his lunch. Sounded like Two-Bit didn't like the sound of that, and set him back down. When we got back outside, we found Soda wobbling around like he was tipsy. He went over to the nearest gas pump to use it for support. Once his world stopped swirling around him like mad, he asked, "Would you guys like something to drink or eat?" Most of us said we more interested in a drink. Soda headed back inside and yelled over his shoulder, "I'm bringing out cokes! And no, Two-Bit, no beer for you! You still have school after this!" The latter grumbled. "I heard that, Mathews! Go sit down and I'll be with you guys in a moment. Also, I'd like to know who that new guy is with y'all!" '_He's talking about me,_' I thought. As I followed the others to the back of the DX, I thought about how much Pony's brother reminded me of a little kid one moment, then a nurturing mother-like figure the next. '_No one in my old gang cared about us that much…_'

The five of us sat along a curb that faced opposite of the wood fence surrounding part of the property between gas station and the residential area. We all had our backs against the cool, cement wall with a bottle of coke in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I was smoking a Camel's like I hadn't in weeks. Taking long, slow drags and holding the smoke in my lungs before it began to burn and would make me choke. Here and there, I would take a drag and then blow the remains out through my nose. At one point, I got a laugh out of Two-Bit for that. Sometimes, that dude can just find something amusing at the most random moments! Whenever my throat got too dry, I'd down some coke to refresh my lungs before inhaling anymore nicotine into my system.

As I stared out into space, which was the fence, it slowly came to me why I had wanted to smoke so bad today. It was due to stress and from the way everybody kept staring at me because I had long hair! As if he where psychic, Steve asked me without even looking at me, "Are you a member of the Guns N' Roses?" _That was my cousin's gang._ "No. Not that I know of. He's never asked. Axl, that is." I said as smoke came out of my nose and mouth. "He might ask you someday…" added Pony. He didn't say it like it was a good thing. "Why do you ask, Steve?" I said. It took him a moment to reply for he was making rings out of his exhaust. "Well, one, you're related to the lead gunner. And, two, you look the part." He seemed to have emphasized that last remark by putting out his cigarette butt on his end of the bench. "Because of _my_ hair…" I sighed and took a long sip of my coke, nearly draining the final remains. It was going to take me a while to get used to people and the social classes in Tulsa. The standards were higher and the stress to fit in that much greater. '_People can be so strange sometimes…_'

**-- Duff**


End file.
